


You Can Build Them Again

by Emmatheslayer, ravenlowe



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Depression, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Post-Kingsman: The Golden Circle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-05-14 12:11:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19273042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emmatheslayer/pseuds/Emmatheslayer, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenlowe/pseuds/ravenlowe
Summary: It doesn't hit Harry until they’re back on home soil watching the construction teams clear out the crater that used to be Headquarters, that this is no homecoming, because everything that gave his very existence meaning is gone.





	You Can Build Them Again

**Author's Note:**

> A big thank you for emmatheslayer for providing the artwork!

 

 

It doesn't hit Harry until they’re back on home soil watching the construction teams clear out the crater that used to be Headquarters, that this is no homecoming, because  _ everything _ that gave his very existence meaning is  _ gone. _

From the sordid mess with Poppy to making arrangements with their American cousins for Kingsman to rise from there hasn’t been time to spare to deal with the loss.  There’s still so much to do, but faced with this stark reality, Harry feels his carefully built walls start to crumble.

The result is staggering.  Harry drops to his knees with a gasp, his vision swimming as he tries not to wonder, on the edge of hysteria just how deep the hole before him goes.

_ Deep enough. _

His own remembered words echo through his mind then fade into the roaring in his ears.  Harry is self-aware enough to know that his grasp on reality is sometimes tenuous, but now he’s in danger of losing the thread entirely.  The crater in front of him narrows into the void as the question flits through his mind, an idle, fading thought suddenly resonating and repeating in on itself over, and over.  Spiraling. The question, of if this helplessness and despair that is stealing Harry’s ability to breathe, is anything like how Merlin felt in the aftermath of the mess with Valentine; because Harry can remember that now.  The church. The rage. The carn---

Oh Christ.   _ Merlin. _

Harry’s spiraling thoughts slam to a sudden halt.  Merlin. He can’t ask Merlin about his feelings because  _ Merlin is dead. _

_ Merlin is dead.  Merlin is dead. Merlin is dead. _

It’s been like a low thrum in the back of Harry’s mind since that fatal misstep in Cambodia; since before he even realized exactly how much the bald man meant to him.

_ Merlin is dead.  Merlin is dead. Merlin is dead. _

No,  _ means _ to him.  Just because Merlin is dead, doesn’t mean Harry’s feelings are, and as subtle as they were at first, in the background of everything, pushed aside for matters deemed more important, now they sound like a drum, or perhaps more apt, the beating of Harry’s broken heart.

_ Merlin is dead.  Merlin is dead. Merlin is dead. _

Here, in front of the ruin of the life they’d built together, it’s impossible to compartmentalize; impossible to deny, and as painful as a shot to the head.  Worse, even. A shot to the head is a flash of agony, then the relief of welcoming darkness. This knowledge churns and lingers like a slug in the gut. Agonizing and just as deadly.

Harry should know.

“-- _ arry.  Breathe mate.  C’mon now. Harry.” _

A warm touch to his face and the sound of an insistent voice brings Harry back from his dark thoughts.  He blinks, and the void recedes into the face of Eggsy kneeling in front of him with a calloused hand cupped on Harry’s cheek.

The touch is too intimate for Harry to stand.  He gently pulls away from it and blurts the first thing that comes to mind as he attempts to gather himself.  “Your trousers.”

Eggsy shoots him a watery smile that Harry has no hope of returning.  “There you are, Harry.” He says, almost tentative and stresses Harry’s name as if he’s worried that Harry might have forgotten it.  He supposes that  _ could _ be a legitimate worry, and tries not to hold it against his protege.  His stomach churns. “Let’s get you up, yeah? Maybe give Ginger a call? Make sure that you’re alright?”

Bless him.  He’s as much a mother hen as Merlin ever was.

_ Merlin is dead.  Merlin is dead. Merlin is dead. _

“I’m fine, dear boy.  All of it just, hit me, I suppose,” Harry sighs and allows Eggsy to pull him to his feet.  Part of him rages against the younger man having seen this weakness in him, but for the most part, Harry is grateful to have him there, ever steadfast.  “I’ve seen things that you couldn’t imagine in my time, but this, well, this a bit much to take in, isn’t it?”

Eggsy says something in agreement, though Harry hears little save for the timbre of his voice.  Instead, his attention is drawn back to the crater, and the grounds beyond. Aside from the great hole where Headquarters  _ should _ be, the grounds are remarkably intact.  The lawn is overgrown from months of neglect, but it won’t take much to see it in proper order.

_ Lawn maintenance _ should be the last of his worries.

“There should be a memorial,” Harry hums as he turns his head until all he can see is the green of the field, and not the shambles of his life’s work.  “To the..fallen.” His traitorous tongue can’t say Merlin’s name aloud. Not yet.

Eggsy follows his gaze with a rueful smile and nods.  “Great bloody statue of Merli--”

“No,” Harry interrupts with a frown at his own rudeness, but he presses on despite it.  “Just a garden, I think. He’d hate a statue, and would come back from the grave just to tell us off.”

There was no grave because Merlin was scattered in pieces over a Cambodian rainforest.

_ Merlin is dead.  Merlin is dead. Merlin is dead. _

“Would be worth it though,” Eggsy sighs in a tone that draws Harry’s gaze.  It’s almost wistful. “He was a riot when he was pissed.”

It’s unfathomable, to Harry, who knows he is just now beginning to grieve--who has only now realized he  _ should _ grieve-- that someone might miss Merlin the way he does, but there is no mistaking the pain in Eggsy’s eyes, or in the way he speaks.

“He was,” Harry agrees, both because it’s true, and because his words have failed him.

The emotional torrent that drove him to his knees isn’t gone, but is banked and simmering just below the surface, waiting to drag him down again.  Harry won’t let it. He can’t afford to let it.

His head gives an echoing throb, and from the corner of his eye, Harry can see a butterfly of the most perfect, mossiest greet start to flit by.

_ Merlin is dead.  Merlin is Dead. Merlin is dead. _

He doesn’t turn to face it. 

It’s not real.

 

\----------

 

_ Merlin wasn’t something that Harry planned for in life.  He started as a curiosity, grew into an infatuation, then suddenly, Harry couldn’t deny it anymore; he was in love.  Knowing Merlin’s smile, his laugh, and his touch were worth the ruination of all his careful plans. _

_ Getting to keep that forever; that was priceless. _

 

_ \---------- _

 

_ Harry’s last thoughts as he resigned himself to the fact that forever was over were twofold. _

**_I hope you’re not watching,_ ** _ even as he knew Merlin was, and, with his final breath,  _ **_I love you._ **

 

\-----------

 

Harry doesn’t tell Eggsy when he goes to visit the site of his former home, but maddeningly, the boy is there waiting for him, despite that.  He’s dressed in his suit again, perfect from head to toe, and Harry can’t recall the last time he saw Eggsy in his ostentatious civvies. Harry swells with pride for his somber,  _ settled  _ young protege even as he fights from biting his lip at the other’s presence.

They are both weighed down by recent events, but Eggsy is every bit the man Harry knew he could be when given the chance.

He’s here to sift through the wreckage alone in hopes of finding something, anything, that will make his memories feel more  _ real. _  He has nothing but a tattered and frayed memory of a life lived, and a love that spanned  _ decades. _  Harry _ needs _ something he can touch.  He needs any small momento that he can find to anchor him to his past and make it  _ real. _  Anything.

If he has something that he can feel and see, then maybe he can bury it and move on with his life.

Eggsy’s presence is a setback, but only a minor one.  The roadblock comes when Harry realizes that construction has already began on a new home in a space his once occupied.  There is no wreckage to sift through.

Time marches on.  There really is nothing left.

_ Merlin is dead.  Merlin is dead. Merlin is dead. _

Harry’s fist clenches at his side, but he will not collapse in front of Eggsy again.  “Where’s the tracker, then,” he asks, going for wry humor, and falling just short of it to his own ears.

“Your shoe,” Eggsy replies without missing the mark.  His smile is boyish and honest, and Harry wonders if  _ he  _ was ever that way.  No --he remembers that now-- by Eggsy’s age he was anything but  _ honest. _  Impish perhaps, and already trying to weasel his way into Merlin’s good graces, if not his bed.

He  _ doesn’t  _ remember how he met Merlin.  It was in Kingsman, of course, but he can’t recall the very moment, and that  _ rankles. _

“Honestly, I’m just chuffed it lasted this long before you sussed me out.”  Despite his looks, Eggsy is  _ not _ all that honest either, and it’s about time Harry remembers that.

He doesn’t scowl, but it  _ is _ a near thing, nor does he immediately move to destroy the tracker, as Eggsy seems to think he will.  At the moment, he just doesn’t have the energy-- a feeling that Harry is becoming familiar with.

Before Valentine he felt indestructible.  Now, Harry feels each and every one of his years, hard lived, and lost.  He has no idea  _ how _ to get back to the place that he was, and isn’t sure that he even wants to.  At what point is enough, enough?

Eggsy nods over towards the skeleton building.  “It’s yours if you want it back, mate.” He seems conflicted as his brows furrow and his stare is a thousand-kilometers wide.  Harry steps closer, still willing to offer comfort when it’s needed even when he cannot seem to take it for himself. He squeezes Eggsy’s shoulder as the boy continues to speak.  “I couldn’t look at it, ‘til they got the mess out. Thought once that was done, I could handle it, but here I am now and all I can think about is Brandon and JB dying in there, the way they did.”

The young man-- because Harry does him a disservice by thinking of him as a boy;  he’s lived, and lost, perhaps not as much as Harry has, but the experiences are all the same--proves his mettle again by making himself vulnerable in front of Harry without hesitation or remorse.  Perhaps, he  _ should  _ follow Eggsy’s example--but wait.

The thought strikes Harry like a lightning bolt.  “ _ You _ were living here?  What about Merlin?”

Harry is  _ sure  _ that he lived here  _ with _ Merlin.  

Eggsy frowns.  “Suppose that didn’t come up with Poppy and all.  I was moping about after the whole Valentine mess, and Merlin offered the place to me.  Insisted. He said you wouldn’t mind.”

“No,” Harry breathes. “I don’t mind, but..then where was Merlin living?”  That’s the part he can’t seem to wrap his head around. He was supposed to be  _ here _ .

Harry still hasn’t let go of Eggsy’s shoulder, but Eggsy twists in his hold to face him.  “I don’t know. I mean, I always thought that he lived at headquarters, but y’know, that night, after the bombs, he said that the only reason he was alive, was because his home wasn’t listed in the database.”  He pauses. “You came here tonight because you thought  _ he _ lived here?”

Harry can’t answer him.  His head pounds and he lets go of Eggy’s shoulder to rub at his own temple.  Eggsy grips the wrist of the arm still down at Harry’s side, and his distress must show on his face, because Eggsy’s expression tightens into something determined as well.  “I’ve got the feelin’ I’m not gettin’ the whole picture here, guv. Enough’s enough. How about we go ‘round to the pub. I’ll buy the drinks, and you can tell me what the fuck’s been going on with you since last week.”

The words should be hard, but they aren’t.  They come out more like a plea, and Harry is weak.  Despite his desire to lick in wounds in peace, so to speak, he finds himself agreeing.  “Alright, Eggsy.”

“Good.”  He releases Harry’s wrist.  “Yeah. Good.”

Harry ignores the moss green butterflies flitting along the skeleton of the construction as they turn in unison to leave.

 

\-------

 

_ Moving in together wasn’t so much a choice, as it was a slow invasion.  Harry moved out of headquarters, and Merlin could sometimes be convinced to stop in for dinner.  Then stay for breakfast. _

_ Before either of them knew it, Merlin’s things migrated into the master bedroom and that was that. _

  
  


\---------

 

They end up in a pub not far from where they started.  There is no Kingsman cab waiting for them at the end of the row, and there won’t be for some time.  In the grand scheme of things, the cabs and the personnel to drive them are low priority. 

The walk gives Harry time to clear his mind and decide just what he’s going to tell Eggsy.

He decides on something rare:  the truth.

They settle into a corner booth with a pint of Guinness each that they sip at as Eggsy watches Harry, and Harry looks somewhere over Eggsy’s shoulder, unable to meet his eyes.

Eggsy’s patience still needs work.  He begins to get antsy before Harry even gets properly settled in with his drink.  “C’mon Harry,” he groans into the too long silence. “I know this shit ain’t been easy for either of us, but you  _ were _ getting better when we were in Kentucky, and now you--”

“--Should be back in the padded room?”  Harry asks with a sardonic lift of his brow.  He nips as Eggsy scoffs and denies thinking anything of the sort.  Harry lays his hands flat on the table in front of him-- a symbolic surrender. “I’m sorry Eggsy.  You’re only attempting to help, and I’m taking it out on you.” 

He sighs.  “I used to be better at compartmentalizing things, and I’m unsure, if this is a side effect of my  _ treatment _ or perhaps merely the scope of everything that has happened since Kentucky, but I’ve fund that I’m having a harder time...moving on than I might’ve in the past.”

His words are carefully chosen, but are no less truthful for it.  Across from Harry, Eggsy frowns. He’s sitting on his hands, a trait left over from childhood, no doubt, and a desperate mother’s attempts to keep her child’s sticky fingers at bay.

It’s endearing.  Most everything about Eggsy is, for all he tries to present himself as a punk.  He’s more comfortable in his skin now, than Harry’s ever seen in him, and it won’t be long before he shakes off the last of his youthful masks.  He looks down and away from Harry as he processes, and Harry is happy to give him the time. “Merlin. It’s about Merlin, yeah? He said the same thing to me, about compartmentalizing shit, then was sobbin’ on my shoulder an hour later.”

Harry takes a large drink from his glass as he tries to imagine it.  There must have been alcohol involved for Merlin to lose his composure.  “A very large part of it, yes. Did he,” Harry hesitates, unsure if he wants to continue, but then decides to soldier on.  He’s in too deep to back out now, and he’s someone startled to find that he doesn’t want to. “Did he ever tell you about our relationship?”

Eggsy’s spine straightens and his eyes go wide as saucers, and before he opens his mouth, Harry knows that the answer is no.  “You mean like--”

“We were together, romantically, for over two decades,” Harry clarifies to save Eggsy from having to ask.  

It feels good to say the words, so much that it blindsides Harry.

He didn’t think he  _ could _ feel good.  Not since--

_ Merlin is dead.  Merlin is dead. Merlin is dead. _

He swallows around air.  He doesn’t know that he ever  _ has _ said those words aloud before.  Their relationship was a discrete one, out of necessity at first, then convenience.  There was no need to come out, no one to tell. Until now.

“No.  Not a word.”  Eggsy’s eyes are glued to Harry, as he tries to grasp what he’s been told.  To his merit, Harry doesn’t believe the issue comes from any sort of bigotry.  He’s merely surprised. “All that time I moped and..I..he.. I though..shit.” He looks so torn between devastation and anger.  “I thought that we were closer than that.”

Harry can empathize.

“I’m not surprised.  We’d been living together for three years before I even learned his given name, and that was by accident.  Merlin is..was an intensely private person.” The memory pops into his head, unbidden and for all of Harry’s reluctance to have this conversation, perhaps there is something cathartic about it. “Regardless, we were together a very long time, and while I wouldn’t say I was denying his death, once we were standing there, it suddenly became  _ real _ to me.  It’s…”

Harry’s hands are shaking.  He clenches his fist.

“Shit Harry, what do you need?  What can I do?”

He loves Eggsy a little more in this moment.  “Time Eggsy. I merely need  _ time. _ ”

 

\--------------

  
  


_ Harry was nothing if not a showman.  Merlin teased him mercilessly for it from the moment they met, until it almost became a game between them. _

_ It was a game they were still playing, as Harry waited for Eggsy outside of the police station after getting his charges dropped. _

**_You look like a tosser._** _Merlin rumbled over the coms.  Harry smirked._ ** _Peacock.  Look lively.  Here comes your boy._**

 

**\-----------**

 

Their residence in London is an old Kingsman property purchased just after World War II.  It’s an unassuming residential hall that at one point was a block of flats, but has since been converted into a safehouse of sorts.  It reminds Harry of time spent on a similar property in Scotland a lifetime ago-- more freshly unearthed memories that he clings to. The decor and location has Merlin’s predecessor all over it, and has since been untouched.

Harry isn’t sure how it escaped Merlin’s modernization spree of the late 90s, but it’s a double-edged sword.  

This place has no particular memories of the man attached.  It’s a bit easier to get up each morning, but at the same time it makes the loss all the more glaring.  Harry continues to yearn for  _ anything  _ to replace the memories of Merlin’s final moments that are burned into the forefront of his mind.

He  _ aches _ for work.

Despite appearances, Harry has never considered himself to be a man of leisure.  He’s lived his life moving from one assignment to the next with few periods of downtime in between.  Rebuilding is slow business, and with the Statesmen handling the cleanup of the latest mess, Harry has little to do but brood.

Eggsy insists it’s  _ grieving, _ but Harry knows his mind.  He’s wallowing.

Merlin wouldn’t want him to live his days in a black mood.  He’d want Harry to get on with his job and his life. It’s apparently what both he and Eggsy had done after Harry’s own supposed death.

Harry just  _ can’t _ seem to let go.  Perhaps it’s because he’s only so recently gotten his memories back, or perhaps it’s just some defect in his character, but this time, there is no shoving it all back into the box.

He wakes up more often than not with tears on his cheeks.  Worse even, are the days he wakes up  _ hard _ with Merlin’s name on his lips.  Harry’s dreams are fragmented memories mashed together with no rhyme or reason.  Stolen kisses and hurried encounters in dark hallways play between gunfights and explosions, lazy Sunday morning fucks mixed in with wry insults and banter as Harry fights his way through bunkers and mansions.  The tears he can wipe away, but the way he  _ aches  _ at the ghost of Merlin’s touch is always slow to fade.

Those are the days where he can barely get the food in the puppies’ bowls before he’s stumbling down to the basement floor.  The room is soundproof, and the boxing bag hanging in the far corner is a welcome distraction.

Sometimes he trains for  _ hours. _  Sometimes, Eggsy or Tequila join him.

Sometimes Harry just stands in the middle of the room and curses Merlin for being a stupid noble bastard until his voice goes hoarse. 

Sometimes, Harry can almost pretend that he’s moving on.

 

\--------

 

**_I love you._ ** __

_ Harry’s heart stopped the first time he heard Merlin say the words.  The breath caught in his chest, and he forgot what he was doing, accidentally choked himself on Merlin’s cock, then pulled away from it with a great hacking cough.   _ **_Merlin you…_ **

**_I meant it._ ** _ Merlin laughed, as Harry sputtered.   _ **_Try not to let it go to your head._ **

**_Oh.  I love you too, you great oaf._ **

 

\-------

 

 _Harry fought well in Poppy’s compound.  He was deadly and focused and all the things a good agent should be, but he couldn’t help but think, if he had been more_ ** _himself_** _then he would have noticed that landmine before Eggsy could step on it._

_ With both eyes, perhaps he would have seen Merlin’s plan before his lover had a chance to sacrifice himself. _

 

_ \---------------- _

 

Eggsy interrupts his day during the middle of the week.  They haven’t seen much of each other outside of meals for the past few days.  He and Tequila have been busy working with the crews overseeing the building, and Harry is  _ shirking responsibility. _  Life is going on without him, and Harry can’t much bring himself to care.  

Something has to give.

Eggsy finds Harry in the basement before supper and is full of restless energy.  It’s clear that he has some sort of news for Harry from the way he keeps biting at his lower lip, then licking over it while glancing up at the wall just beyond Harry’s head.

One day they will have to have a conversation about obvious tells.

Harry wishes Eggsy would get on with it, but instead he comments on Harry’s newest project.

“Suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that you’ve managed to set up a firing range down here.”

Harry sighs.  “There isn’t enough space to have a proper go of it, but it isn’t the worst I've made do with.”  The paper target attached to an old mattress at the end of the room is enough to let Harry gauge his shooting ability at the least.

There will be no repeating what happened in the bar in Kentucky, Harry will make sure of it.

“They’ve almost finished clearing out the debris at headquarters,” Eggsy reports.  “We’ll have you back in a proper range before you know it.” He hesitates then, and bites his lip once more before pressing on with whatever he’s been itching to tell Harry.  “Speaking of headquarters, we ah, think they found Merlin’s server today. Intact.”

Harry freezes and turns his full attention to Eggsy.  This is something Harry should have expected. It’s wonderful news.

“Tequila and I couldn’t make heads or tails of it, so we’ve sent it on to Ginger.  Don’t suppose you might have any insight, bruv?”

Eggsy looks hopeful, but Harry can only shake his head.  “His private servers, yes, but never the one in Headquarters.  That knowledge was for Arthur and himself only. My access codes would only get us in as far as yours, perhaps, less, considering how old my codes are.”

“He really was a paranoid bastard, wasn’t he?  For all the good it did us.”

Something in Harry flares with rage at Eggsy’s tone.  “Merlin’s first duty when he was hired by Kingsman was updating the security on the servers.  He always took that job seriously.”

Eggsy realizes that he’s misstepped.  He holds up his hands in surrender, face contrite.  “Hey bruv. I didn't mean anythin’ by it. If anything the hack was my fault.  I was distracted. I should have noticed the arm. Leaving foreign tech in the cab was fucking stupid of me.”

Eggsy’s hands clench at his sides.  This is something that he’s thought about-- worried over.  Harry has his own list of should haves, it shouldn’t come as a surprise to him that Eggsy has his.

“The only true course of action is to learn from one’s mistakes and not repeat them,” Harry replies at length.

“But Merlin,--”

They’re on the edge of something, but Harry isn’t quite sure what.

“If I hadn’t--”

Oh.  Harry bites his inner cheek as he looks down at Eggsy.  The younger man is fighting to keep his composure. He seems so  _ young _ , and  _ hurt, _ and all of a sudden, Harry’s world expands.  How did he miss this? 

There are bags under Eggsy’s eyes, and he’s far too pale.  He’s jittery and hesitant in a way that Harry has never known him to be.  It’s clear that Eggsy hasn’t been handling things any better than Harry has.

He is perhaps better, at hiding it-- or Harry has been so wrapped up in his own pain that he forgot that he’s not the only one to lose Merlin.

He should have noticed.

 

Harry has never been one for gratuitous physical contact.  He wasn’t raised to be tactile, and he and Merlin were hardly demonstrative outside the privacy of their home.  Harry knows that he  _ should _ wrap his arms around Eggsy-- the younger man is as close to his own progeny as Harry has ever cared to get, but still, he hesitates.  Instead of reaching out he hands Eggsy the gun, then points to the target. This is a language they both speak.

Eggsy doesn’t hesitate.  He takes aim, then fires even as tears well up in his eyes.  Again, and again he pulls the trigger, until the clip clicks empty.

He sniffles, then turns back to Harry and drops the empty gun.  Before Harry can chide him, he throws his arms around Harry, going so far as to tuck his face against Harry’s shoulder. He returns the embrace, hesitant at first, but it’s not long before he’s gripping Eggsy just as tight.

It’s an echo, in a way, of when they held each other after Eggsy triggered Harry’s memories. 

“Eggsy.”  Harry bites the bullet.  “I owe you an apology.” He holds up his hand to forestall Eggsy’s protests.  “I’ve been so tied up in my own head, that I was blind to your suffering. I don’t blame you for Merlin’s death.  I never have.”

Eggsy squeezes Harry tighter for a moment.  “I’m sorry too Harry. So damn, sorry. I miss ‘im. He---”

“I know.  I know.” 

“Well damn if this ain’t the most heartwarming thing I’ve seen all week,” Tequila’s voice rouses Harry from his stupor.  He releases Eggsy, and bends to scoop up the discarded gun to store properly. “And I watched Homeward Bound on Tuesday.”

“Fuck off,” Eggsy growls, but the corner of his lips turn up as he looks up at the cowboy.  It appears that Eggsy’s grief is not the  _ only _ thing that Harry’s depression has made him blind to.

Tequila grins.  “S’bout time you two worked out your shit.”  His eyes cut from Harry to Eggsy, his gaze asking,  _ you have worked out your shit, haven’t you _ ?  “Was getting depressing watching the two of you pussyfoot around each other.”

“Well, I suppose that it’s a good thing that no one asked you to watch us then,” Harry drawls with a haughty lift to his brow.  He wasn’t  _ avoiding _ Eggsy, insomuch as he was avoiding  _ everyone. _ Eggsy and Tequila both bark out a laugh, and Eggsy looks delighted as he bumps his shoulder against Harry before moving to join Tequila on the stairs.

“What he said,” Eggsy laughs, and bumps against Tequila in much the same way.  He turns that smile back down at Harry. “Come upstairs with us,” he entreats. “Ginger sent us a  _ care package  _ to hold us over till she gets the server cracked.”

Part of Harry resents the interruption--for one moment his pain was something shared, instead of something consuming him.  The way they bicker and push at each other, however, eases something in Harry. It reminds him of better times, and he can’t help but smile back at them as he sets his grief aside, for just that moment, and follows them into the light.

 

Funny, he thought he’d forgotten how to do that; smile.  

  
  


\----------

 

A few days later, Eggsy bullies him to going back to Headquarters. 

It’s little more than a skeleton, though an improvement over the crater, and this time Harry doesn’t break down at the sight of it.  His ability to compartmentalize is still a work in progress, but in recent days he  _ is _ standing on more solid ground.

_ It was never about the building. _

He can look at it with a certain amount of numbness, and he even turns to go closer, but Eggsy steers him in a different direction.  They walk the grounds a ways from the construction, to a patch of dirt and a shed that Harry  _ knows _ wasn’t here before.  “Eggsy?”

 

Eggsy smiles at him, almost shy.  “Well you mentioned that there should be a memorial.  A  _ garden,  _ yeah?  Taadaa?”

Harry blinks at him, bewildered.  He  _ does _ remember saying as much, but can’t quite suss on what that has to do with the shed and soil before him.  “This is a dirt patch,” Harry states the obvious.

“Well yeah,” Eggsy coughs, and leads Harry around to the shed.  “Was thinkin’ you might want to plant it.”

To Harry’s admittedly unreliable recollection, he has never kept a garden in his life.  He’s never had the time to keep more than a few houseplants, and even those required little care.  “You must be mad,” he finds himself saying, looking with wide eyes between Eggsy, the dirt patch and the shed.

“A little bit, maybe,” Eggsy grins.  “But hear me out, yeah?”

The shed, as it turns out, holds all the equipment one might need to start a gardening project.  Harry isn’t sure where he got the money from, but it’s clear that Eggsy spared no expense. The only things missing are the plants.

“If I must,” Harry sighs, as he pokes through the tools.

Eggsy is unoffended. Part of Harry wishes that he was.  He’s made an effort to be more  _ available _ since their conversation in the basement, but there’s a very large part of him that is itching for a  _ fight. _

What he gets instead is Eggsy’s apparently never ending patience--a trait that only seems to apply to Harry’s mercurial moods and nothing else _. _

“I know you’re still grievin’,” Eggsy begins without further preamble.  “And bein’ cooped up in the flat ain’t doin’ ya any favors either. I get that helpin’ with the rebuilding innt really in the picture right now, but  _ Harry. _  Mate.   _ You’ve got to do somethin _ ’.”  

There’s no accusation in Eggsy’s voice, though Harry knows there  _ should be. _  He’s the senior agent, and he should be doing more than hiding away in the basement with a punching bag and a puppy.  “And  _ this _ is what you’ve come up with?”

“Well, it  _ was _ your idea,” Eggsy fires back.  Harry tilts his head to acknowledge the hit.  “You can think of it as a mission, if you like.  Just  _ please _ Harry.  Give it a try.”

Harry sighs.  He can’t fathom why this means so much to Eggsy, but his  _ guilt _ means he can’t deny the young man anything.  If gardening is what Eggsy wants Harry to do, then by God, he will try.

“As you wish,” he sighs, less than thrilled at the prospect.  “But I’ll need the proper attire. I’m sure you understand.” 

Eggy’s smile at both the reference and the agreement is brighter than the morning sun.  “Alright, Harry.”

 

\--------

 

The damndest thing about it all is that the gardening  _ does _ help.

Harry goes with Eggsy’s suggestion and approaches it like a mission.  He does his research; plans for everything from the seasons to the color palette of the layout.  He purchases the bulbs to plant himself. They’ll bloom in the spring, when he can continue on with the seeds that he’ll plant for the fall.

He’s planning for  _ future  _ events.  He wants to be alive to watch the flowers bloom.  

Harry supposes that’s progress.  

He goes from spending most of his days in a basement, to spending them in the field, with Denver nearby on a long lead-- though not so long he can dig in the flowerbed, Harry corrected  _ that _ mistake almost as soon as he made it-- and a speaker that blasts a mix of his playlist and what he can remember of Merlin’s into the afternoon air.

Denver howls as Dolly Parton sings 9 to 5, and with dirt on his forehead and nose, Harry pauses in his work to wonder how this is his life.

He still misses Merlin like something vital.  It’s more than his sight or a even a limb. Harry feels as if he is missing all the best parts of himself.

His heart.  He’s missing his heart.

But he can heal.  He has to heal.

 

\----------

 

It takes Ginger, and the new Statesman quartermaster two weeks to crack the security on the Kingsman servers.

“It’s a backup,” she reports.  There are tears in her eyes, even though there’s a wide smile on her face. Harry remembers that during those last weeks  _ she _ was the one Merlin confided in, and the acid in his stomach churns.

He should have taken the time.

“It will take a while to extract everything, but it’s all here.  Everything you need to restore the Kingsman systems to how they were the night before the bombs went off.  No wonder Merlin worked so hard to protect it. The chassis is near indestructible.”

It’s the best news they could have asked for, but Harry can barely find it within himself to smile.

Kingsman is his life, but he’s beginning to wonder just how dedicated he is to rebuilding it.

Eggsy wants him to be Arthur.

Harry wants to be done with it all.  He’s the only surviving agent in his generation.  Everyone,  _ save Eggsy, _ that he ever cared about is dead.  

They avoid talking about it.  For now, it’s enough that Harry offers input when asked, and makes his daily trips to the garden to work.

After Ginger’s announcement Harry finds a message from her in his inbox.  There’s a single string of text across the screen, and Harry doesn’t need any other kind of context to know what it is.

_ Merlin’s address.  _

He excuses himself after breakfast the next morning with the excuse of errands.  Eggsy is reluctant to let him go alone, but Harry insists. He’s not a child in need of minding.  His mental facilities are intact. He  _ needs _ this bit of independence.  He  _ needs _ to begin living his life again.

Harry takes a cab to the address.

He ends up in front of a nondescript brownstone in the middle of a block of identical flats.  He takes a deep breath as he walks up to the front steps. There’s no sign of Merlin’s normal security.  No retinal scanner--not even a fingerprint. The knob and knocker are standard as far as meets the eye. Harry doesn’t trust it.  Merlin was a master of masking the extraordinary with the mundane.

He reaches up for the knocker and knocks.

There were no instructions in Ginger’s message.  No key. There was only the address, and now that Harry is here, he’s at a loss.

The door opens.  A woman, easily in her nineties answers, and looks up at him with a hostile glare.  Harry is reminded again of a season spent in Scotland, and why is that memory so significant?  He can’t place it aside from a lingering malaise that taints the memories. “Can I help you?”

“Ah yes, forgive the intrusion but I was given this address for my...dear friend.”  Harry pauses. He doesn’t even know the name that Merlin gave this woman. Surely not his codename, though it was the only thing he’d answered to for the majority of his life.  No, it has to be something else.

Harry swallows, and goes out on a limb.  “Connor.”

The name has history.  

Years ago, they’d trained together.  One such lesson was how to discuss classified information in public.  Harry remembers enjoying the afternoon of conversation laden with innuendo and codenames that they cheekily inserted into their lives again and again.

The woman’s expression darkens.  “He’s not been about in  _ months _ .”

Harry nods.  He knows nothing about this woman, but telling her of Merlin’s passing isn’t any easier than informing Lee’s widow of his.  “I’m aware. I regret that I have to inform you of his passing. I’ve come to collect his effects.” He goes for professional and detached, but emotion still taints his voice despite his efforts.

For the first time in  _ weeks _ the thought echoes through his mind.

_ Merlin is dead.  Merlin is dead. Merlin is dead. _

“During all that mess with the drugs then?  He didn’t seem the type.” She looks uneasy, and more than a little suspicious of Harry and his haughty demeanor.

“He wasn’t,” he assures her.  He has seconds to come up with a plausible lie that rolls off his tongue.  Harry doesn’t hesitate. “He was struck by a vehicle during the height of the madness.  Simple bad luck, or so I was informed.”

She scowls then, and gives Harry another long look.  “I recognize you, you know. He’s got a picture of you up on his desk.  Figured _ you _ were dead, from the way he looks at it.”

“We were estranged for a time,” Harry explains.  “We’d only reconnected when, well…” The most believable lies always have a foundation in the truth, and this one is no different.  Harry can see the moment that the landlady goes from uneasy to pitying. The new look doesn’t settle well with Harry--  _ he hates being pitied-- _ but it’s just the reaction he needs.  “Might I come inside? Such horrible business shouldn’t be aired on the stoop.”

She blinks at him, and seems to realize where they are.  “Hell. Where are my manners? Com in then, I’ll show you to the flat.”

They walk inside.  

It’s damn near impossible to imagine Merlin living in this building.  The decor is far more in align with Harry’s tastes than Merlin’s spartan idea of decoration--though the floral wallpaper is an affront to humanity and Harry will not be convinced otherwise.  There are several doors down the hall and a staircase in the foyer that the landlady begins to climb.

“I’d started to worry after it had been a few weeks,” she tells him between steps that she takes one at a time.  Harry bites down on his impatience. “Oh, he was in and out all the time--kept the oddest hours, but he never was gone for more than a week at once.”

“How long is his lease paid?”  They stop on the landing to allow the old woman to catch her breath.

“The end of the year.  I figured that I could at least give him that long, until letting the flat to someone new.”  She smiles at Harry, as if this is something that she should be praised for, rather than just fulfilling her part of a contract.

They make the rest of the trip in silence.  

She stops at a flat at the end of the hallway, and uses a key from a ring attached to her belt to open the door.  “Well. Here you are. I’m not sure how many trips it’ll take you, but just lock it back up when you’re done. I’ll have someone around to clean it at the end of the week.  Anything you don’t have out by then’ll be fair game.”

For all she seems fond of Merlin, at the end of the day business is business it seems.  Harry appreciates it, and wishes he could do more than offer a muffled, “Thank you,” as he stands in the threshold.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” she says in return then leaves him to it.

Harry takes a step into the flat.  It’s dark inside. There are heavy curtains drawn over the windows, blocking the natural light. The door enters straight into the sitting room, with a kitchenette off to the side, then a door to what is presumably the bedroom.  It’s small, far less than Merlin could afford, even without counting what Harry himself had left him in his will.

What was Merlin doing in a place like this?

Harry’s eyes adjust to the darkness, but he crosses the room to open the curtains anyway.  The sitting room is barren of personality. The furniture is unremarkable, likely there before Merlin ever moved in.   _ That, _ at least is something that Harry expected.

Despite their years together, Merlin never grew out of the urge to contain everything he owned in two small bags; always ready to move in a moment’s notice. 

 

Harry starts for the bedroom, only to stop short.  He doesn’t know why he’s surprised--the landlady mentioned it after all-- but just at eye-level, alone on the shelf, is a picture of them together.  Christ, it must be at least thirty years old; Merlin still has hair and Harry’s curls are out of control.

 

They’re sitting at Merlin’s desk at headquarters, well, Harry is sitting  _ on  _ it.  He can’t say who took the picture.  He doesn’t remember this moment. Merlin is clearly trying to work, but his head is tilted up towards Harry, who is leaning in close, gaze adoring.

How they ever thought they kept their relationship a secret at this stage, Harry doesn’t know.

Whoever took the image clearly knew and gave it to Merlin, who despite his claims about not being sentimental had kept it.

Harry reaches up and runs his fingertips over Merlin’s face. 

He knew this would be hard, and Harry’s never shied away from doing something just because it might be difficult. 

The bedroom is just as immaculate as the rest of the flat, but Harry knows all of Merlin’s favorite hiding places.  He moves about the room, gathering items, until he has all of Merlin’s worldly possessions in a pile on the bed. The clothing he leaves folded in a pile.  It’s far too tempting to bury his face into the jumpers and search out any trace of Merlin’s scent. Instead, Harry focuses on the oddity in the group-- a leatherbound journal that was left, right out in the open on the bedside table.

It’s worn, and well used but Harry can’t recall ever seeing it before.  It’s really the last thing he expected to find here. Merlin wasn’t one for either journaling or hand writing  _ anything. _  He runs his hands over it as he sits on the edge of the bed next to his findings, and opens the cover.

_ Dear Harry.   _ It’s written on a page pressed between the cover and the first page of the journal.  Harry removes the page and puts the rest of the book aside.  _  If you’re reading this, and I’m still alive, put this back where you found it so help me.  If I’m not alive, I’m sorry. I know that it was always your plan to go out before me, you utter arsehole.  God help me I love you anyway, and if I am dead, I died loving you. _

_ Mourn me, and move on.  Live. _

_ I know you.  No matter how it happens, you’ll pine and find a way to blame yourself.  Don’t. Don’t dwell. _

“Easy for you to say,” Harry bites out, even though there is no Merlin to hear him.  It’s no different than the wish he had for Merlin in the event of his own death, but reading the words leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.   _ Harry doesn’t want to move on, _ not really.  

He can’t read the rest of the letter.  Not now. For all he tells himself he’s making progress, all it takes is a few written words to send him right back to square one.  All his talk about healing;  _ a delusion. _ His head is spinning and it’s hard to breathe.  It’s an echo of how he felt that day in front of the the ruin of headquarters.  Harry closes his eyes against it and counts aloud in whispers, unwilling to break the quiet sanctity of the room, until the taste of bile recedes.

He folds the letter carefully, and moves to put it back into the journal, but not before catching the date at the top of the page in Merlin’s precise handwriting.

_ 20 December 1997 _

The day after Lee died.

Harry grips the journal tighter as he tries to decide if it makes things better or worse.  That time was... _ rough _ for the both of them, but mostly Harry.  He was never one to handle failure well, and Lee rankled more than most, in fact at the top of the list until Merlin’s own death.

They’d both looked death in the face that day.  Perhaps it shouldn’t be so surprising then, that Merlin felt the need to write down what he wanted to be his final words to Harry.  Harry should have done the same. Why hadn’t he?

They’d always put the job first.  Well, now Kingsman was gone and what was the job worth?  They’d saved the world, he and Merlin, too many times to count.  But there was always some new threat, always some new megalomaniac, and why had  _ he _ , the  _ romantic  _ between the two of them never taken the time to leave Merlin with  _ anything? _

No wonder he’d packed up and left the home they shared to Eggsy. 

How  _ did _ Merlin survive the time thinking Harry dead?  

Harry isn’t sure that he’s strong enough.

_ Mourn me, and move on.  Live.  _ Merlin wrote those words in his own hand for Harry.

_ For you, you fucking bastard.  I’ll try. _

I’ll try.

  
  


**\------**

 

Winter gives way to spring.  Harry tends to his garden.

He has his good days and his bad ones, but the routine helps to keep him steady.  It’s not the retirement he ever wanted for himself, but Harry finds he’s almost content with it.

After he spends the morning hours pulling weeds, he helps Tequila and Lancelot train the new recruits.  The younger recruits underestimate him, but he puts the little bastards into their places with ease. It’s refreshing almost.  They have no expectations of him.

They don’t expect him to be who he was  _ before. _

There will be no trials.  For now, there’s a place in Kingsman for any candidate that can make it through the lengthy training period.  With the recruits’ varied backgrounds and experiences, the Kingsman anew is far from Chester King’s vision, and Harry can’t find it within himself to be bothered.  Chester King, after all, was an enormous prick.

They’ve put off the issue of Arthur for the time being.  Harry still cannot bring himself to accept the position, and Eggsy won’t see it go to anyone else.  He makes his excuses about his health and mental state, but in the end they all know that Harry refuses because he can’t fathom running the organization without Merlin at his side.

Someone will eventually have to take up the mantle, with or without Harry, but he doesn’t foresee changing his position.  There’s a list, that he keeps hidden in Merlin’s journal, of suitable candidates for when the day comes.

Until then, Harry has his garden.

The sound of uneven steps in the grass gives Harry pause.  He doesn’t recognize the gait. He looks up, blinking against the sunlight at the figure that’s approaching.  “I’m sorry, but this is private property.” It seems ridiculous to believe that someone might stumble upon the manor on their own, but it has happened once or twice in the past.  “I’ll have to ask you--”

“Harry.”

Harry has never been more wrong in his life as the figure resolves into the one person he  _ knows _ he cannot be seeing, but this is no flash out of the corner of his eye, and never before have his hallucinations spoken to him.

The stranger in Harry’s garden is undoubtedly Merlin, thin and pale, clutching at a cane with a shaking arm, but alive.  So very alive. Harry can see the rise and fall of his chest as Merlin breathes, even with his impaired vision.

_ Merlin is dead.  Merlin is dead. Merlin is-- _ **_alive._ **

For a moment all he can do is stare, then he launches himself at Merlin with a cry, “You utter bastard!”  The both tumble down right into Harry’s gardenias. Merlin lets out a pained groan that Harry covers with his lips as he kisses him the way that he should have a year ago.

He’d welcomed the distraction of Poppy then.  He’d used the mission to keep space between them, rather than reconnect.  He thought they would have more time, and considering how he’d gotten into the situation in Kentucky to begin with, Harry should have known better.

Harry’s always been a man of action, and just the once, he’d let fear stay his hand.

He’s  _ not  _ repeating that fucking mistake again.  He clutches Merlin with the desperation of a man drowning and breathes him in, as sweet as air.  For the first time in  _ years _ Harry feels truly himself.

They kiss until they’re gasping; equals in their joy at being reunited.

Merlin is the first to pull back. He draws in a deep breath before pressing a kiss to Harry’s scarred temple.  “Well, you always did enjoy a good wrestle.”

Harry stills, takes a deep breath, then bursts into tears.  A breath later he pushes up, stradling Merlin, just so he can haul back and punch the git right in his fucking gob.

“Shite!  Christ Harry,” Merlin curses as he released Harry to clutch at his cheek.

“You let me think you were dead!  For a year!” Harry pushes Merlin’s hands aside to cup his cheeks between his own hands.  “You. Fucking. Bastard.”

Merlin sighs at Harry, then covers his hands with his own.  He pulls them away from his face then twines their fingers together.  “I’m sorry.” He looks Harry straight in the eyes, the pain of his jaw apparently forgotten as he says the words so low Harry strains to hear them.  Merlin brings Harry’s fingers up to kiss. “I’m sorry. There is nothing in my life that I regret so much as the time it took me to get home to you. Part of it was my injuries, but part was my own bullheadedness.  Can you forgive me?”

Harry is angry-- there’s no denying that, but a great deal of said anger is directed at himself.

_ He should have looked harder for a body. _

He offers Merlin a water smile, then shifts back, to lay down mostly on top of him with his head resting on Merlin’s chest.  He can hear Merlin’s heartbeat, strong and steady. 

“I’m afraid that you’ll have to spend the rest of our lives making it up to me,” he drawls-- just to be contrary.  Merlin is home. Merlin is already forgiven.

_ Merlin is alive.  Merlin is alive. Merlin is alive _ **_._ **

Merlin knows Harry too well to take him seriously.  He released Harrys hands in favor of wrapping his arms around him.  “I can do that,” he rumbles, and Harry smiles.

“Good.”  And it is.  There are still conversations they need to have; there’s Valentine, Poppy, and the things that happened in between, but they can wait.  The whole fucking world can wait. He and Merlin both, have spent so much of their lives putting the world before themselves. They can afford to be selfish just this once.  They’ve earned it. “You can start by telling me how you made it out of Cambodia.”

Harry relaxes as Merlin obliges.  The mere sound of his voice is a balm like no other, reaching a place within Harry that no recording could.

Overhead, a butterfly dips down to land on top of Merlin’s nose.  Harry doesn’t dare blink as his eyes follow its’ path.

Merlin’s voice cuts off and his eyes cross as in the same moment he sneezes with enough force to rock them both.  The butterfly flutters off, and Harry feels something unclench inside of him. Real. 

This is real

Merlin is alive.

Harry is home.

 

\-------

 

_ This is not the end.  It is not even the beginning of the end; but it is perhaps, the end of the beginning. _

 

\-------

Merlin tells the story of his survival no less than a dozen times.  Eggsy weeps to have him back; Tequila is more skeptical, but is quick enough to warm up to the Scot after a night of heavy drinking compliments of the new Kingsman distillery in Scotland.  They share a love of Hank Williams Jr. that neither Eggsy or Harry can quite understand.

Harry laughs more than he has in years as the dogs begin to howl during their drunken rendition of Whiskey Bent and Hell Bound.

His life feels as if it is sliding back on track.

Despite that, Harry finds that he still has no wish to take up the mantle of Arthur, and to his surprise, Merlin agrees with him  These last brushes with death have soured Kingsman for them forever, it seems. 

Harry never planned for retirement.  He was always going to go out in a blaze of glory in the field.  Now, he’s already done that. It’s time for a new plan-- a new future.  It’s time to leave the fate of the world in the hands of the young.

Well, mostly.

They stay on as consultants for a time. They’re both too controlling to be able to just let go  _ completely _ .  Kingsman is still their lives’ work, and neither of them have any wish to leave it in shambles.  Harry continues to help train the new recruits  _ and _ the new Arthur, while Merlin works tirelessly to restore the computer systems and security to the manor and new satellite locations.  

His still-healing injuries and new prosthetics slow him down in ways that often make him angrier than Harry’s ever seen him, and Harry still wakes up some mornings not knowing where or  _ who _ he is.  They fight, and makeup, then fight again.  They break things, both from the perils of being in bodies that are theirs but not quite, and frustration.

They both lived without the other at their side for almost  _ four years. _  Being in each others’ pockets takes some readjustment.

It’s far from perfect, but there’s nothing Harry would trade it for.  He’s been blessed with more time, and he has no intention of wasting it.

They’re the first customers when the shop reopens.  Eggsy fights tearing up as he fits them each for their suits, knowing that their time together is coming to an end.

They all wear their new suits to dinner.  Eggsy stands and raises a glass in toast. “To Harry, who saw somethin’ in me that no one else could see, and  _ pushed _ .  You taught me what it was to be a gentleman.  I owe you my life. To Merlin, who taught me to question my assumptions, and how to go on when I thought I had nothing left to give.  You’re the guv, and it’s  _ fuckin’ spectacular _ to have you both here tonight.”  

Merlin groans at Eggsy’s impression much to the younger man’s delight.  “I’m still right pissed that neither of you thought to mention that you’ve been together for longer than I’ve been alive, but in the face of not one but  _ two _ resurrections, I’m takin’ the high road and not holding it against you.”

“That’s very magnanimous of you Eggsy,”  Harry praises as he takes Merlin’s hand under the table and gives it a squeeze, then marvels that he can even do so.

Eggsy laughs.  “Thanks, Harry.  Now. To you both.  Enjoy retirement, like the geezers you are, just spare us the details, yeah?  You’ve earned it. And try to stay out of fuckin’ trouble, would ya? To Harry and Merlin!”

Those gathered around the table answer the call, raising their glasses.  “To Harry and Merlin!”

 

\-------

 

They return to headquarters that night for the last time.  Together, Harry and Merlin walk the hallways, familiar but new, until they get to Merlin’s office.  The hangar below is empty, and the tube behind them quiet. Twenty-four hour monitoring of this area won’t go live until tomorrow, after they are both gone.

It’s bittersweet.  The room  _ looks _ like the one they spent decades together in working and falling in love, but it feels like something new and foreign.

Harry gasps when Merlin pushes him into the restroom in the corridor and hungrily presses their lips together.  “Do you remember,” he rumbles, brogue so thick the words are almost mashed together. His lips move from Harry’s mouth to his neck.  “Do you remember?”

“I do,” Harry gasps again, as he lets himself fall back against the wall just as he had in 1981, the first time lust overtook their better natures.  Romance didn’t come so easy to them at first, but this? They’ve always known how to drive each other wild. “I remember prodding and teasing until you  _ snapped _ and all but threw me into this very room and had me on my knees gagging on your cock until we  _ both _ came.”

Merlin grunts and bites into the skin of Harry’s throat just above his collar.  One of his hands is splayed wide over Harry’s hip, and Harry can’t help but grind against the thigh pressed between his legs.  He can’t even remember the last time he got hard, but his cock is certainly awake and willing now.

Harry moves to drop to his knees again, as he did so many years ago, but Merlin stops him.  It seems their trip down memory lane is over, but Harry isn’t complaining. The hand at Harry’s waist pulls him closer, and the next touch of lips to his is sweet and almost reverent.  Harry’s head spins as he clutches at Merlin’s shoulders and opens his mouth to return the kiss.

At Merlin’s direction, they stumble from the bathroom, back down the hallways, following well known paths until they reach Harry’s quarters.

A  _ need _ for nostalgia had made him pick the same rooms when they moved in weeks ago despite Eggsy offering him Arthur’s quarters.  Harry has never been happier he did so. He hates to think it could be someone  _ else’s _ quarters they’re breaking their way into.  They are his, however, for this one last night.

For a moment, Harry questions their decision to retire.

Then, Merlin’s lips are on his, and they collapse back onto the bed with muffled grunts that fade to laughter.  The heady rush that led them from the bathroom to here, fades into something sweeter.

The last time they had to take their time and enjoy each other was before James died, and as tempting as it is to give into that familiar jolt of lust, undiminished after all this time, Harry doesn’t think he has the energy for it.  It’s just as well. Merlin is flat on his back and holds onto Harry like he’s something precious.

Harry’s fingers are steady as he works at Merlin’s tie, then the buttons of his shirt.  He makes it to the fourth button down before Merlin’s own hands stop him. “Harry,” Merlin sighs with a tone that makes Harry push up to straddle him and look down at his lover.  “I don’t want you...I’m.. I’m not the man I used to be.”

The caution is sweet, but unneeded.  Harry pulls Merlin’s hand up to rest against his temple.  The missing eye is still hidden behind his modified glasses, but the scar and streak of silver in his hair are plainly visible.  “You’re here, and alive. You’ve never cared about my scars,” and there were many. “Why do you think I’d give a toss about yours?  I love you.”

He doesn’t listen to Merlin’s continued protests.  If Merlin truly wants him to stop, he’ll safeword out--not that either of them is about to embark on anything particularly kinky.  Instead, Harry shifts his weight over Merlin’s cock--already hard and trapped in his trousers-- then bats Merlin’s hands away so he can go back to what he was doing.

Merlin groans and thrusts up against Harry, as expected, and his protests fade.  Instead, he makes a nuisance of himself by starting to work at Harry’s own clothing before he’s finished.  More than once Harry has to bat a hand out of his way, or jam his knees into Merlin’s sides to get him to stop moving.

By the time they’re both nude, their breathing is rough, but they’re both smiling and on the verge of laughter.

Merlin’s smiles used to be rare, and precious things, but Harry can’t help but lean forward to kiss this one from Merlin’s face.  He’ll get to see it again. Daily, if he has his way. The way Merlin’s lips twitch against his is far too sweet to pass up.

Harry presses one more quick peck to the upturned corner of Merlin’s mouth, then begins to snake down Merlin’s body intent on finding the lube and getting a taste of Merlin’s cock, when he gets stopped again by a heavy hand on his hip.  

“Where do you think you’re going,” Merlin rumbles.

“Well,” Harry starts, matter-of-factly, as he props himself up on an elbow planted next to Merlin’s stomach.  He presses a kiss to the shiny, scarred skin there. “I  _ was _ planning on giving your cock a proper welcome home as I prepared myself for the fucking you’ll give me after.”

He raises a brow, darling Merlin to disagree, and to Harry’s surprise, Merlin does.  His hand stays where it is, and he uses it to pull Harry back up until they’re looking eye to eye.  “Not tonight,” Merlin whispers. “Don’t think I could last, and I  _ need _ you close.  Let me help you.”

There’s a vulnerability in Merlin’s eyes and tone that Harry’s not used to seeing, but, he finds quickly that he can relate.  There’s something about the way they’re pressed together now, trading soft kisses between words, and holding onto each other with just a bit of desperation that’s soothing over rough nerves that Harry’s tried to deny he still has.

So, Harry stays there cradled against Merlin’s chest, as Merlin reaches into the bedside table for the lube, then together, they work Harry open.  He presses the first finger inside, stretching back, but anchored by Merlin’s arm curled around him. Harry can only thrust shallowly inside himself, but soon Merlin’s finger joins in own, stretching and pushing in deeper to draw a whimper from Harry’s throat.

“Christ.  It’s been so long,” he curses, eyes fluttering closed at the feeling of Merlin’s finger pressed against his own inside of him.

“Too long,” Merlin agrees, as he pulls his finger away only to begin to press two inside.  Harry’s cock jerks between their stomachs, leaking pre that gets smeared over their skin. “Still so responsive.”

Harry sighs against Merlin’s throat.  “I’d forgotten how much I loved your fingers.”

Merlin sagely doesn't comment on just how much Harry  _ had _ forgotten.  Instead he hums and presses deeper, seeking out Harry’s prostate.  There’s certainly nothing wrong with  _ his _ memory, as he brushes against it without much searching, though the angle is wrong for any real pressure.  Harry pushes back against their fingers trying, and failing to get more.

For a moment there’s no sound in the room save the quiet squelch of their pushing fingers almost overridden by the sound of their joined breathing, ragged but in tune with one another.

Then Harry decides he’s had enough.  He withdraws his finger, and clenches down on Merlin’s before wriggling until Merlin does the same.  “I’m ready,” he announces, the words unneeded as Merlin spreads his legs and bends a bit at the knees, his hands settling on Harry’s thighs.

Harry presses one last kiss to Merlin’s lips, sits up, and moves into position.  He can feel the cool metal of Merlin’s prosthetics against his legs, and even that, is somehow soothing.  It grounds him into the present as he reaches back to curl his fingers around Merlin’s cock to line him up.

He takes his time as sinks down upon it.  

They were both right; it has been far too long.

The stretch burns, and the pressure steals his breath, but Harry doesn’t stop until he’s fully seated.  His body remembers how to do this, but it still takes him longer than usual to adjust. Merlin is a thick heavy presence inside of him, both foreign and familiar.  His back curves as he grinds down, then pulls up just a little testing the waters.

 

It helps that Merlin seems similarly affected.  His thumbs rub in small circles about Harry’s knees, but he can’t seem to pull his eyes away from Harry’s face.  The rest of his body is stock still. He’s giving Harry the time he needs to adjust, but Harry can feeling him almost trembling with the effort that it takes him.

Or perhaps, Harry is the one trembling.  It’s difficult to tell.

He rocks back on Merlin’s cock and they both hiss.  Harry reaches down and finds Merlin’s hand on his knee then gives it a squeeze.  In turn, Merlin twines their fingers together, holding tight. He rocks again, slowly pulling their bodies into motion.

They settle into a rhythm that comes to them like second nature.  Merlin’s hips come up in small, jerky strokes that match Harry’s downward motions.  The awkwardness fades away, leaving only pleasure that ebbs and flows with no hurry.

They’ve  _ made love _ before of course, but something marks this as special in Harry’s mind.  For all the rough spots they’ve had since their reunion, in this, they are in perfect concert.  Rhythm established, Harry leans forward again, plastering their bodies together, his cock trapped between their stomachs.

Merlin takes his weight without complaint, and obliges Harry by opening his mouth when he presses their lips together.

They’re quiet.

Harry’s always considered himself to be a connoisseur of dirty talk, and Merlin’s tongue is downright filthy once it gets going, but neither of them seem to have the breath for words.

They don’t need them.

The passion grows between them.  Merlin spreads his legs further apart, and pulls his knees up, as he takes control of their motions.  He thrusts long and hard into Harry--urgent without being rough. The slap of flesh makes Harry gasp as his cock drags against their sweat-slick stomachs.

He’s not going to last much longer, but neither will Merlin, judging by the way his neck cords as Harry nuzzles into it.  He licks over the salt tinged skin, then bites down, drawing a long groan from his lover.

“Cheeky,” Merlin grumbles, and snaps his hips sharply upwards, causing Harry to let out a curse.  “C’mon. Up a little.”

Harry could likely get off, just from the friction where he’s pressed between them, but he does as Merlin commands.  He raises just enough on his elbows for Merlin to sneak an arm between them, and wrap a hand around Harry’s cock. 

“You’re beautiful,” Merlin praises as he strokes in time with his thrusts.  Harry has to fight back a whimper. He buries his face back into the crook of Merlin’s neck, only to be coaxed back up, so he can look Merlin in the eyes.

He’s spent months being haunted by the same mossy-green color shining up at him now, but even the most beautiful butterfly couldn’t compare to the adoration in Merlin’s eyes.  Neither of them are particularly known to be demonstrative with their emotions, but here in this moment, there’s no point in holding back. 

Harry knows now what it’s like to live without the man beneath him.  God help him, he will never experience it again.

He kisses Merlin once more, eyes determinately open, as Harry finds himself unwilling to miss another moment.  His vision may be limited, but his willpower is not.

Harry falls over the edge first, with Merlin close behind-- and isn’t that just the way of things?  

It’s more than just coming, it's a release.  Tension that Harry didn’t know he was still carrying seems to drain from him all at once, as he paints long stripes of spend across Merlin’s chest and stomach. Merlin groans beneath him, but Harry can barely hear it over the roaring in his ears.  Tears gather in his eyes as he collapses back down against Merlin’s chest and buries his face into the crook of Merlin’s neck.

He shifts until he can feel Merlin’s pulse hammering beneath his lips.

Harry doesn’t even notice as Merlin withdraws from inside him, or wraps his arms around him.  He shifts when Merlin prompts, sliding down to lay beside Merlin without having to move his head.  Strong fingers stroke up and down along his back, and slowly Harry comes back to himself.

“Alright there?” Merlin asks at length with a tinge of amusement.  His voice resonates through Harry, and finally he is able to put some space between them.

“I’m fine, you brute,” he growls as he gives Merlin a quick swat against his chest.  Harry’s hand comes back sticky with spend, and he can’t help but huff at the mess.

Merlin, bastard that he is, laughs at him, then captures Harry’s wrist, to bring his hand up to his lips and lick the mess away.

Harry’s spent cock gives a valiant twitch.  Oh, if only they were younger men. He presses another kiss to Merlin’s cheek and sighs.  “We could spend the rest of our lives doing that, you know. We have nothing but time.” Saying the words aloud only makes them more real.   _ They have nothing but time. _

“True,” Merlin replies magnanimously.  He wriggles one arm free of Harry’s grasp and stretches back to the nightstand to retrieve something.  Harry’s brows furrow, as Merlin almost seems to hesitate before revealing it to him. In his hand is a brooch that makes Harry’s eyes widened.  He knows what the intricate piece of white gold is, but never expected to see Merlin offer him one. “I was rather hoping that we could do something else, though.”

Of course Merlin wouldn’t propose with something so pedestrian as an engagement ring.  The luckenbooth brooch  _ is _ beautiful though.

Harry licks chapped bottom lip and raises a brow.  “Did you just propose to me with come drying in your chest hair?”

Merlin doesn’t even have the grace to appear ashamed.  “Seems that I did.” He presses the brooch into Harry’s hand.  “If you want me to do it proper, I will, on bended knee in front of God and everyone, but so help me Harry, please, give me this, for us tonight.”

The design is even more beautiful up close.  Harry traces the stylized “M” of sword and thistle, as he lets Merlin sweat it out a little.

They’ve spoken of marriage before, of course, but never anything concrete--nothing immediate.  The job had to come first, and any promises they made each other would have to be in secret, but not now.

This isn’t how Harry imagined his night would end, but he can easily see it as a beginning.

“ _ Of course you dolt, _ I will.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Thank you again to emmatheslayer for providing the art that inspiried this piece and for being lovely to work with, and another thank you for BosieJan who holds my hand when I have meltdowns three quarters of the way through things and keeps me on track.
> 
> [Art Masterpost here](https://emmatheslayer.livejournal.com/582344.html)
> 
> Another thank you to the organizers of the event. It's been a great experience and very well organized.
> 
> The title comes from the song A Hazy Shade of Winter by Simon and Garfunkel.
> 
> I just worked a nine hour shift so my brain is gone, but if you liked what you saw, feel free to check me out on tumblr @ sleepersith.
> 
> Ta!


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